


A Few Libations

by swanssong



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, cs fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 00:30:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3308972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swanssong/pseuds/swanssong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was wondering if Emma WOULD, in fact, find Killian more irresistible after a few libations. Then this happened. <br/>Set between 4A and 4B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Few Libations

_Hi, Killian, it’s Mary Margaret. Is there any way you can come pick up Emma? She’s had a bit too much to drink and she keeps trying to order more, so I think it would be best to remove her from the situation._

            Killian examines the text message he received from Emma’s phone with a quirked eyebrow. During all the months he’s known her, he has never witnessed the savior in any sort of intoxicated state. And he has to admit he’s intrigued by the possibility of a looser-lipped, less inhibited Emma.

            He maneuvers Swan’s screechy yellow deathtrap of a vehicle (honestly, he has no clue why anyone in this godforsaken town lets her drive the damned thing. The noises it makes alone are anything but comforting) into the parking lot outside the Rabbit Hole where his Swan and a few other lasses are celebrating the upcoming nuptials of the young Ashley Boyd. Apparently in this land (as in the Enchanted Forest), that requires the consumption of large quantities of spirits.

            When he opens the door, Killian is surprised to see the tavern is quite full on this evening. It appears Ms. Boyd has pulled out all the stops for her celebration, including decorating the establishment with what appear to be pink phalluses and inviting the entire female population of Storybrooke.

            He makes a mental note to ask Emma about the former.

            “Killian!” a high-pitched version of Emma’s familiar voice squeals at him. “What are you doing here? This is a girls only party.” She regards him with what he supposes is mock-disappointment as he takes in her glassy, bloodshot eyes.

            “Swan, I’m here to take you home. Word has it that our favorite town sheriff has had a bit too much to drink,” he teases, smiling down at her as she slinks her arms around his neck.

            She full-on pouts at him, bottom lip stuck out and everything. “I don’t want to leave. Why don’t you stay for a bit? They have rum here,” she sings, twirling a short lock of his hair with her finger.

            “No, love, sorry but we’re going home,” he says, grasping her left hand and pulling her back towards the exit.

            Emma tugs her hand back before promptly sitting herself on the floor behind him, folding her feet underneath herself and crossing her arms over her chest (unintentionally offering him a rather distracting view down the front of her dress). “No. We’re staying,” she demands.

            “Bloody hell,” he curses under his breath at her antics, scratching behind his ear. He glances up to see Mary Margaret wincing at him apologetically. How her mother let Swan get quite this drunk, he’s not sure. Killian bends down and wraps his arms around Emma’s waist, hoisting her up into his arms.

            “Hey!” she yells as he clutches her bridal style, offering a farewell nod of his head to the patrons before exiting the establishment with the very drunk savior still in his arms. “Put me down! I can walk, you know.”

            “No need, love,” he drawls. “I’ve carried rum barrels heavier than you.”

            She stiffens in her arms. “You’ve said that before.”

            “Have I? I don’t remember.”

            “Well not _you_ you. But the _old_ you said it. Before carrying me onto your ship. Much like you’re doing now,” she giggles as he sets her down carefully before opening the passenger side door to her car and guiding her in.

            “Right,” he says, brushing off her drunken babble. “Well, Swan, are you able to fasten yourself in to the seat or shall I do it for you?”

            She smiles coyly at him. “Can you do it?”

            He sighs, confused by this giggly, bumbling woman who has replaced his Swan. “Of course.” When he reaches down to fasten the belt into place across her lap, she leans forward and presses a hot, wet kiss to the side of his neck. “Swan,” he groans, “what are you doing?”

            “Remember that one time you asked me if I was afraid I’d find you more irresistible after ‘a few libations’?” she asks, finishing the question with an (almost insulting) impression of his accent.

            He chuckles a ghost of a laugh as he pulls away, shuts her door and climbs in the driver’s seat beside her. “Aye, that I do.”

            “Well,” she begins, leaning into him so her hot, strongly alcohol-scented breath blows against his jaw, “you may have been right about that.”

            “Is that so?” he chuckles, amused by her uncharacteristic verbosity.

            “Aye,” she nods, laughing to herself at her choice of affirmation. “In fact, I’m not really sure how I resist you sober. Or _why_ I do, for that matter. You’re really freaking hot, you know.”

            His cheeks absolutely do _not_ go red at her declarations. Killian clears his throat, trying to focus on the road in front of him rather than Emma’s low, breathy tone as he takes them towards the loft. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

            “You think?” she croons, casually placing a hand on his knee and squeezing before ascending farther up his leg…

            He quickly grasps her hand and raises it to his lips to brush a light kiss against her knuckles and stop the torturous climb of her hand up his thigh. “Emma, I’ve not been driving but a few weeks and I’m still not convinced this Bug of yours won’t bloody collapse without any notice whatsoever, so I think it would be best if you refrained from doing anything to endanger us further.”

            Emma pouts, pulling her hand back from his so she can cross her arms across her chest yet again. _Because apparently she’s a bloody toddler when she’s drunk and not getting her way_. “You know,” she says, sounding a bit more coherent, “I could arrest you for driving without a license.”

            “To my knowledge, darling, it is also a crime to be heavily intoxicated in public in this land. So your threats aren’t exactly as intimidating as you might hope.”

            “So maybe I won’t arrest you. But that doesn’t mean I can’t handcuff you to my bed and decide on your punishment in private,” she says, voice low and promising next to his ear.

            He shivers involuntarily, desperately trying to focus on steering the vehicle into the parking space outside her parents’ building as she runs her lips down his jaw. Immediately after he puts the car in park, he turns his head towards Emma, kissing her hard.

            The breathy moan that drifts from her mouth almost immediately has Killian imagining all sorts of scenarios for how this could play out (roughly _none_ of which involve him acting in a gentlemanly manner). He breaks away after a few minutes, his hand still fisted in her hair. “Inside. Now,” he growls.

            She smiles darkly and clambers out of the car, managing to get all the way to the door of the building without stumbling and falling on her face. He catches up to her quickly, placing his hook at the base of her spine and guiding one of her arms over his shoulder so he can assist her in climbing the stairs to the apartment.

            Once inside, Emma kicks off her shoes and smiles at him in a way that makes his recently-restored heart pump fast. The loft is empty; Dave is on night duty at the Sheriff’s station (with a sleeping baby Neal in a portable crib of sorts no doubt nearby) and Mary Margaret is likely still at the tavern party. The combination of the predatory smile on Emma’s face and the empty apartment inspires downright salacious thoughts to cross his mind, especially when Swan grabs him by the lapels and roughly joins her mouth to his while pushing him back against the door with her hips. He can feel his desire for her climbing as his arms circle her waist, hand clutching at her through her dress.

            In a sudden moment of clarity he softens his movement against her mouth and withdraws from the kiss, smiling softly and reassuringly as she opens her eyes and peaks at him in confusion. “As much as I’ve wanted this, _dreamed_ about having you,” he sighs, “I would never forgive myself if I allowed our first time together to occur while you are so intoxicated you’ll likely not to remember it tomorrow.” He cradles her flushed face in his hand, smiling when she leans into it. “When I finally have you, Swan, you will be fully coherent and _begging_ for it. Because I want you to remember ever single moment of it,” he promises.

            She shivers at his words, eyes drifting closed again. “Okay,” she sighs disappointedly. “But don’t be surprised if I try and jump you as soon as I wake up,” she continues on a yawn.

            Killian chuckles at the sudden shift in her mood. “Let’s get you upstairs. To sleep.”

            She nods and allows his to guide her up and into her bed, before collapsing against the quilt. He hands her the flannel pants and shirt sitting on the chair in the corner and flushes as she begins pulling her dress over her head immediately. Killian turns around quickly and coughs.

            “You know, you don’t have to look away,” she giggles, shuffling around as she dresses herself for bed.

            “Aye, and you don’t have to take off your clothes right in front of me while I’m trying very hard to be a gentleman and restrain myself.”

            She giggles again before pulling on his hand and turning him around to face her where she’s (thankfully) fully clothed once again. “Thank you for coming to get me, Killian.”

            He smiles at the soft, genuine gratitude in her voice. “Anytime, Swan.” He kisses her gently before pulling the quilt up over her and tucking her in. “Sweet dreams.”

            Her eyes open halfway, looking up at him blearily. “Will you stay here with me?”

            Killian climbs in next to her, sitting with his back propped up against the wall behind the bed. “Of course, love.” She’s already breathing slowly and rhythmically in sleep by the time he leans over to press a soft kiss to the crown of her head.

* * *

 

            He greets Mary Margaret as she reenters the loft half an hour later, carrying a car seat containing the sleeping prince, and looking much more coherent than Emma had been at any point in the evening.

            “Thank you for coming to get her,” the woman says, smiling softly at him. Killian is still baffled by her easy and genuine acceptance of his relationship with Emma. Before the two of them had taken their journey into the past, Emma’s mother had seemed less than taken with her daughter having a pirate suitor.

            “No need to thank me, your highness. It’s probably good we got her out of there before she drained the entire town of its liquor supply.”

            “For the last time, you can call me Mary Margaret,” she says, rolling her eyes in a way that is just so _Emma_. “But I agree with you. How’s she doing?”

            “She’s alright. Fell asleep nearly instantly. The amount she drunk apparently had a narcotic effect.” He pauses before awkwardly shuffling towards the door. “Well I suppose now that you’re home, I should be heading out.”

            “Killian, it’s late. You don’t have to walk all the way back to Granny’s; you can stay here,” she insists, waving him away from the door.

            He regards her speculatively, his tongue poking into the side of his cheek. “Are you sure Dave would be alright with that?”

            She pauses for a moment and grins at him knowingly. “Maybe you should sleep on the couch.”

* * *

 

            Killian wakes to a symphony of grumbled curses and stumbling feet drifting from the loft above him and smiles. Swan is anything but a morning person, but she seems to have risen before even the tiny prince on this occasion.

            He sits up and watches her clamber down the steps, hair mussed and eyebrows knit together in a scowl that practically _screams_ ‘hung over’. She stops at the base of the stairs when she feels his gaze and her eyes soften a moment as she realizes his presence. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she explains gruffly, turning on her heel and shuffling into the small water closet.

            After a few minutes of running water, she comes back out and makes straight for his location on the couch, curling up next to him. She tucks her feet beneath his thighs, places her head against his shoulder and groans as her eyes flutter shut.

            He tries not to chuckle at her alcohol-induced misery, having been there many times himself, and smooths down her hair. “Headache?” he inquires. She simply nods in response. “Can I get you anything?”

            “Coffee,” she mumbles. He’s glad her eyes are still closed, because the amusement he’s feeling at her grumpy demeanor (small as it may be and mostly overshadowed by concern) would most definitely be considered unacceptable by her standards.

            “As you wish, my lady,” he answers, softly kissing her temple before disentangling himself from her limbs and padding into the kitchen.

            He studies the coffee machine critically, trying to recall the exact steps one must follow to concoct a batch of the beverage. He fills it with water, puts in a new white paper, pours on some of the ground beans from the container next to the machine and flips the red switch, pleased when the device roars to life.

            He’s quite proud of himself when he returns to the living room carrying a cup of coffee, as well as a couple slices of toast with butter. (He’s becoming quite the ‘21st Century Man’ as Emma had said weeks ago and he has decided he’s allowed to be proud of that fact.)

            Emma looks up at him in what can only be described as miserable gratefulness as she reaches for the dishes in his arms. “You’re a life saver, you know.”

            His cheeks redden at her casual insistence of his heroic qualities. “I do believe it is you who is known as the Savior in this town, Swan, not I.”

            “Mmm,” she hums in a disagreeing tone, carefully sipping from the mug nestled in her grip. “You’re my savior, though.”

            Killian has no control over the grin that takes over his face at her words. “The savior’s savior? I suppose that’s as heroic a role as any,” he teases. “And one I’m happy to take on.”

            The corners of her lips lift in a soft smile, though her eyes remain closed. “So, you came and picked me up last night at the party, correct?” she asks.

            His eyebrow shoots towards his hairline. “Do you not remember the events of the evening?” he asks carefully.

            “It’s a little fuzzy. I remember tequila. Lots of tequila.” Her eyes crack open and look at him suspiciously. “I didn’t do anything embarrassing, did I?”

            He bites his lip against the laughter threatening to bubble over and shakes his head in a half-hearted refusal of her question, recalling the very insistent way in which she’d asked him to join her in her bed.

            She scowls at his smile and Killian sees recognition (and mortification) no doubt of the previous evening’s events slowly dawn on her face.

            “Oh _God_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Reviews are ALWAYS appreciated.


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